


so ask again

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Gen, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you even qualified to give me PT, May?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	so ask again

“This is humiliating,” he says.

“It’s important,” May replies.

“ _I’m_ a genius.”

“You still are.”

He’s looping steady M’s, #2 pencil with one hand and the other is resting on the dog’s head.

“Are you even qualified to give me PT, May? No offense, I’d rather it’s you than anyone else,” he says, and she allows herself a smile because he’s focused on the paper. “But I really doubt this is a scientific method of rehabilitation.”

Neither of them will say the obvious: that they are all still enemies of the state. They couldn’t get him a top-grade physical therapist even if they begged. So it’s up the rest of them. She and Coulson had been in PT. Jemma is a doctor and a genius alike. They could all figure it out together. Hopefully.

Instead she says something else. “You need to retrain your brain to do simple tasks, and this one’s important.” He gives her a look but says nothing. “I did this in PT once. It works.”

He may not remember the details of their relationship, but he knows not to question her history any further.

“But at some point I’m going to have to walk around and build things. Very delicate things. With my hands, my very shaky, uncooperative hands.”

“We’re working up to that.”

He sighs. “My brain’s still there. I can look at all my old designs and tell you how everything works – hell, I even improved on a few of them. I could direct someone on how to build them but I can’t build them myself. And I can’t remember building them. I can’t remember _using_ them.”

May takes in a deep breath. He’s getting anxious. “So what do you remember?”

He sighs. “Nothing. I mean I have some sense that I’m supposed to be here. Everything you guys say to me sounds true, like a memory. But I can’t conjure anything up on my own. And Skye,” he falters on her name, like he’s not used to saying it, “she says that she had to erase our identities, so there’s nothing to look back to. No proof that I ever was _anything_.”

He’s stopped writing. The _i-u-s_ of the last word of his sentence is scribbled and unclear, and the dog is upset by his tone, whining and squirming under his hand.

“Fitz, all you need to know about yourself, you can see through us.” He looks up at her. “We will remind you who you are until you can remember for yourself.”

His face has crumpled into its most anxious setting and her lips purse. “And if I never remember?”

“Then we’ll help you figure out who you want to be now.”

“I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“You can’t, Fitz.” He purses his lips. “You _can’t_. We’re just proud of you for surviving.”

“I don’t really think I did much,” he says with a shrug. “Jemma says Nick Fury saved us.”

May stills. “Is that what she said?”

His face pales. “Is that not true?” He sounds even more distressed. He must feel very helpless, having to rely on them for the truth. No one’s willing to tell him that he trusted the wrong person before, that that’s how he ended up like this in the first place.

“It is true,” she affirms. He relaxes. “But you should know, Fury may have pulled you out of the ocean but Simmons dragged you out of the pod and up to the surface.”

His cheek twitches near a smile. “You know, I kind of knew she was leaving something out. She’s not very good at hiding things.”

“No, she’s not,” she replies. Her face darkens faintly. “She won’t talk about what happened down there. But she keeps saying that you’re the hero. And we all believe her, Fitz, because we’ve seen you be a hero before.”

His face alights a little more – more than she’s seen in the past few weeks, at least. “I dunno, it kind of sounds like Jemma’s the hero,” he says with a shrug.

“She is, too. You both are.” She falters for a moment, deliberating. “You saved my life once.”

His eyes go wide. “I did?”

She nods.

“Cool,” he says, goofy smile intact for a moment before he scrambles. “I mean, not cool that you were in life-threatening danger but cool, I mean, uh, I’m glad I could help.”

She fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“Keep writing,” she says.

“Has it occurred to you that this isn’t teaching me to control my hands, just how to write this one sentence, over and over?”

This time she does roll her eyes.

“What’s the dog’s name?” she asks.

“Faraday. After the scientist. You know him?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Technically he’s named after the Faraday Cup. Jemma told me a story about how when we were in Academy she once sneezed on a Faraday Cup and I made fun of her for weeks.”

“I know the story,” she says, smile in her voice.

“Do you?”

“Yeah, you’ve told it to us before.”

He smiles widely for a moment, but it fades. “May, about Jemma…”

May steels herself. She truly loathes this. It’s not her business. But she has a soft spot for Fitz, and she’ll indulge him if she must.

“She says she’s my best friend.” He peeks up at her, looking for confirmation.

“That’s true.”

“Is that all she is?”

She honestly doesn’t know where to begin. She takes a long moment of silence to consider this. “I don’t know the details, Fitz. Nobody does, except for the two of you.”

He sags against the pillows. Faraday licks his palm.

“But I wouldn’t discredit the value of Jemma Simmons’ friendship.”

“Neither would I,” he says gravely.

“Good.” She takes a deep breath. “I will say this: I have never seen a relationship quite like yours.”

She hopes for a brief moment that she injected enough mirth into it that he’ll smile. He does.

“Thank you, May.”

“Keep writing.”

It takes a few more minutes of concentration, but he slides the paper over to her. Twenty lines that read _Melinda May is a genius_.

The edges of her lips curl up into a smile. She writes a new phrase at the top of a fresh piece of paper and slides it over to him.

“ _Everything’s going to be okay,_ ” he reads.

“Yes.”

So he writes.


End file.
